Klena
by booboobegone
Summary: Klena. Well, ok, it's, I really don't like Elena, and I think any pairing would be with Klaus because he would just be cruel and that suits me. Read and be warned all ye whom enter my forbidding little mind.


There is always a catch

She didn't think there was a moment where she consciously knew she'd made a choice. But as she imagined the voice of reason to sound a lot like Caroline, that voice stated even her lack of choosing was a choice. She wasn't ballsy, or really brave or even really as selfless as everyone around her seemed to believe. No, she had a dark sort of /need/ to erase herself from this life; this horrible life she didn't want anymore.

She didn't want what Stefan seemed to want to give her, and though Damon seemed to be the polar opposite of Stefan and his whispers into her ear made her, /feel/ for the first time since her parents died, she couldn't seem to hold onto the fleeting emotions he arose in her, either. She should have felt bad for sleeping with him, behind Stefan's back, for making him think she wanted him, but she couldn't seem to work up even a sort of dull pity for her actions. She couldn't seem to work up much of anything.

Until /he/ came to her door, and not as he'd first swept into town either. He came not on two legs, but four. A slap in the face, because she's been the catalyst for this particularly astonishing change which she'd believed wholeheartedly was a lie.

Right up until she watched him kill her aunt, until he took her into his arms(a surprisingly gentle embrace she remembered, considering the violence he'd only displayed a moment before) and ran his mouth (that soft, oh so impossibly red mouth) over her erratically jumping pulse and she felt, something, other than the fear she should have, other than the dull lethargy she'd been stumbling through her days in the throes of. She felt, free, finally, free and, wanted, if she were so bold, because once he bit her, whispered that sibilant /want/ into her ear that he was in fact /taking/ her, she felt other things, dark things that twisted her up and left her trembling in places she had no business trembling in at all when held by /him/. But tremble she did and her inaudible noise of desire made him smile against her skin, and he rocked into her backside, drawing another low sound from her; a sound only he could hear.

So of course he didn't kill her, no, he left her alive to crave...whatever it was she craved whenever she thought of him. Thought she could feel his eyes and his mouth...

No.

She would not do this, she was already teetering on the edge of something else here and with Stefan gone and Damon, wherever he was, she found herself outside, at night, trying to cool the sweat slicked feel of her /need/ off her skin. It was useless and the more she thought, the more she /needed/ and that was her problem. She /always/ needed lately. That's when she saw the eyes, and she whimpered. The eyes shone yellow out at her and as the beast drew closer, she realised that there was a human look to them; a sort of /need/ that echoed hers here in the dark.

"Klaus..."

How she knew it was he she wouldn't be able to say later as she scribbled furiously in her journal, but she knew, she knew and as he approached up the three short steps to nose into her outstretched hand (why she reached out for his softly bristled black coat was a mystery) but she did and the electric contact tightened her nipples and sent tremors to her lower abdomen as he brushed himself against her lower body in a sinuous wriggle that no canine could ever mimic. Then he left and she was left /needing/.

She barely remembered heading into the house and sprawling out on her rumpled sheets, hand buried between her damp thighs, fingers working furiously in a rhythm set into her marrow by the events of the month before, picturing his damnable mouth sucking; /feeling/ it on her throat. She came on a scream, the too close accompanying howl of the wolf outside her house only fuelling her on. She doesn't care, and her damp musky fingers find their way to her panting mouth and she imagines they're his fingers and she drifts off, dreaming of blood and pleasure and the pain of that one night.

If anyone asked her how she was doing, she'd automatically reply with "I'm fine," when her reality was spiralling beyond her control and she spent too many nights trying to ease the ache he caused. (Of course she blamed him for this, why else would she be so suddenly voracious in her pursuit of pleasure, something must have flipped when she almost died) and yet the next time she saw him, he was just himself, jeans, tight henley, unruly dark blonde curls and a dimpled smile. She wanted to tell him to go away but he was already too close and he smelled...like expensive spice and the outdoors on a full moonlit summer night. She was lost to the feeling, the ache, the desire to...

...and there again was her traitorous hand touching, reaching out to explore the rippled grooves of the muscles visible in the vee of his tight shirt, breathing him in and remembering how he felt pressed against her while he drank her down.

"Hello love, quite the show you put on night after night, and here I thought you didn't like me.." his voice is seductively lilting, accent thicker than normal(or maybe she just imagines it as less) and she shivers, on fire everywhere, cheeks burning at the knowledge he heard(dimly proud that he would even /want/ to hear) and asking him on a gasping little whisper, "were you watching, you sick pervert?" Hoping to goad him into some sort of rage with her words so he'll touch her finally, close the distance, make her /hurt/.

She wanted him to hurt her, and that alone should have given her pause, this dark need, but even if he would just...

"I watched."

The admission comes with a set of preternaturally strong fingers around her throat, lifting her a couple inches off the porch and slamming her back into the wall. She sees stars and then she chokes out an airless laugh, big doe eyes meeting his now yellow gaze.

"I was hoping...you'd...join in..."

He stops a second, something primal settling in his eyes to shine fever bright.

"Why don't you give us the full impact, /Elena/."

He spits this out and lowers her just enough for her to stand on her toes, legs splayed and she gasps in a half breath, burning up at the way he says her name. It's a battle of wills that she loses, black dancing around the edges of her vision, her hands working her jeans open enough for her to slide one hand into her sopping panties. High colour stains her cheeks and he growls at her, snapping his fangs and she whimpers.

"I smelled you long before now little dove, long before, are you as wet as you smell?"

Oh god she should be mortified (well she was but it wasn't enough) and instead she gasps out an affirmative, sucking in a pained and shallow breath of air as her right hand brushes her rigid clit, the slick feel of her wet sex causing her to make another noise as she shifts her hips, biting her lip.

He squeezes her windpipe just a little tighter and she gasps, the pleasure/pain arcing even as she slips her second finger into her wet cunt and opens her eyes wide to watch his face, watch what her actions do to him; feels what her actions do to him. He's hard where he's pressed against her hip. And she imagines what he'd feel like buried inside her and that makes her cry out, moist lips rounded while she gasps out heated words to him, things she'd later try to convince herself came from being deprived of oxygen but she knew there was nothing but truth in them.

"I...pictured you...fucking me...every time, imagined my fingers were /you/ inside me..."

"Did you now, /Elena/?" There he goes again, saying her name like it's poison, like he hates her and she's strangely okay with the hate, as long as he does what his whole body is suggesting, the hot breath of his accented growl sending shivers to where she has no business shivering when it comes to him.

She keeps staring at him as she jabs two fingers inside herself, thumbing her clit and rocking against her own hand in a crude parody of what she actually wanted. Black spots danced further into her vision, obscuring her view of his face for a few seconds.

"You'll come for me now, scream out my name like you did last night, and the night before, how you'll scream out when I finally do fuck you, /Elena/..."

His face swims in black-dotted waves as she tries to stay upright, body strung so tight she can barely comprehend the slick feel of her impending climax as it coats her plunging fingers, taut muscles quivering in her efforts to do what he wants and try to maintain, as well, a modicum of control, remain standing so she doesn't choke. No such luck as she shudders violently in his grip, mouth hanging open as several ragged screams are torn from her stressed windpipe while she convulses and he squeezes until she's sure she'll pass out; she doesn't but she almost does as the pleasure builds and she's not sure if she can hold it.

She shoves her fingers into her sopping entrance, dragging her climax into an epic continuation as her fluids dribble down from her clenched internal channel and she's straining up on her toes, choking, gasping, and writhing for him; for /him/ because it's his name she's screaming. The hated, the outsider, the animal who killed her aunt and tortured her and her family for months now and still this is exciting to her, her hoarse cries punctuated with his name, with cajoling sighs /begging/ him to fuck her; to maybe put an end to her torment.

Instead of filling her with the rigid length of his cock like she's panting for, he loosens his hold a fraction to tip her head to the side, fanged mouth latching onto her fluttering carotid like a heated brand and she's sobbing out again as the pleasure erupts again, his larger hand now fanning out over her quivering lower abdomen and displacing her wet digits with his own, groaning as he pushes into her wet cunt and her skin at exactly the same moment. She screams so loud her vocal cords tear and she's left with hoarse ululations and wracking breaths while he both empties and fills her at both ends.

She knows she's missed out whenever she fucked Damon, being so prudish so as to never let him feed and fuck at the same time whenever they were together. But she thinks that it wouldn't have even come close to this moment with Klaus and Klaus hasn't even put his cock inside her yet. If just his fingers are making her feel like this, she can't even begin to fathom how she'd feel with him pounding into her; though it's what she wants...

"Please...Klaus..."

Maybe it's the use of his name, maybe it's the ripped way she's panting while his fingers push and recede in and out, his blood-painted lips swimming into her blurred vision. He doesn't speak, just grabs her hand and places it against his turgid cock, his mouth crashes into hers and she tastes herself on his lips and his tongue while he forces her mouth open, probing, making her crave the dark oblivion her own internal fluids signal. God he could tear her heart from her chest in the same second it would take for her to even notice.

But he doesn't and she snaps open his jeans and slides the zipper down to a sound that is impossibly loud in her ears and then the smooth length of him is free in her palm and she makes some sort of deep hungry sound in the back of her throat; for him. If he doesn't fuck her soon she may explode but given her past experiences with his mercurial personality, she knows that rushing him might not be smart. But she burns now and he takes his fingers out, his mouth away and he pushes those soaked artists digits past her kiss-swollen lips and she tastes an entirely different part of herself on a different part of his skin and the image of herself taking the thick shaft of him into her mouth after he's fucked her makes her squirm, though she works the rough pads of his fingers with her tongue, imagining that it's his cock, and the look on his face is unreadable though his mouth is open and hot puffs of air leech against her heated cheeks. But now she feels empty and is unable to articulate to him what she wants; what she needs. She shifts her hand along his thick shaft and he arches into her grip, easing up on her windpipe only a little, whispering as he does, "I wouldn't want you unconscious when I begin fucking you, /Elena/, I want you aware the whole time, especially when I make you scream my name."

"Pretty sure of yourself..." And he squeezes hard again and she chokes, feeling so stupid for speaking when she wants him so badly now. How could he make her want him like this? Doesn't she hate him? Doesn't he hate her? She thinks maybe he does but her face is the same as Tatia's face and he loved Tatia so maybe...

...Her thoughts scatter when he literally rips her jeans off her body with a loud gun-shot like tear and the cool air brushes her damp sex like a ghostly lover. She shivers and strokes him faster, wondering dimly how he's going to fit all of what is in her hand into her sopping cunt and realising she really doesn't care as long as he does it.

"Please...god please Klaus..." she's begging now and she can't care, not now, not when she hears him shoving the dark denim down and then cups her firm behind, dragging her leg up to hook over his hip, pushing both her hand and his domed cock-head against her lower lips, parting her flesh, making her gasp with his hand still on her throat. She moves her own hand while the other grips his shoulder and she tries to angle her hips for him, allowing him to push against her wet opening and she has a second to think he's too big, too much. It's too late as he breeches her entrance and brutally sheathes himself inside her pulsating channel all at once, ripping a choked howl from her abused throat.

He gives her no quarter, no time to adjust before he rears back and plunges forward, forcing himself back inside her and she cries out, not from pain necessarily, but a pained pleasure so great she'd never experienced it's like. He looses her throat and hooks her other leg over his now free other arm, lifting her and bracing against the wall, pinning her wide and ready while he fucks her, driving into her with such force the window rattles, making her sob out words she'd never normally say during sex or anywhere else for that matter, making her bend her head to watch his shaft push into her over and over, scraping all the right places inside her to make her moan and plead and beg for "more" and "harder"; which he does, with his own sounds of pleasure building between hers.

She grips his hair when he lowers his mouth to her neck and she flies into screaming orgasm when he bites into her neck again and begins to drink her down, her blood pooling over her collar bone and her peaked breast. He doesn't drink long, but he does lap at the trails he caused, then he bites her again at the swell of her breast and she comes again, his name bleating out in gasps and pants and he raises his bloodied mouth and forces her to drink her own blood, bruising her lips, growling in a deep way, commanding her to touch herself, make herself come again and again until she's nearly incoherent and still, still he keeps fucking her and she sobs out another orgasm, fluid squirting out of her in a warm wave.

"Good girl, very good girl Elena." he stops after a few more lazy thrusts, pulling himself free and lowering her to her shaking legs, tersely commanding her to stand while he winds her chocolate tresses 'round his fist and forces her to her knees, his dripping purpled cock level with her open mouth.

"Be a good lass and open wide, taste yourself, /Elena/, taste what I make you feel."

He groans as she takes him into her mouth, and she moans as her own fluids dance over her tongue, her head bobbing while he pulls at her hair, levering her, forcing himself to the point where she nearly gags, fucking her mouth, demanding her eyes while he does it. She startles when she sees the double fangs, the yellow eyes, but she keeps going, making noises for him, her right hand dipping down to plunge into her cunt, opposite to what his movements at her mouth are. His abs tighten and she knows he's close, knows she won't be able to hold all he has in her mouth so she tries, tries as his head goes back and he shouts out his orgasm, filling her mouth with his scalding seed, some making it down her throat while the rest dribbles down over her bloodstained skin, drips from her chin as she slurps noisily on his still thrusting cock. He pulls out and then drives back in and she chokes, but she bobs her head faster, milking him, tasting his essence mixed with hers. She cries out as other orgasm takes her over for a moment, her wandering fingers pausing and he lowers his head to watch her cry out around his quivering member.

"That's it, love..." He removes himself from her mouth and zips himself back into his jeans swiftly, leaving her kneeling, reeling and shaky.

He backs away, smirking through lips painted crimson.

"Until later sweetheart, try not to miss me too awfully much." And with that he's gone and Elena knows that it isn't over, that she'll be the one who searches him out, her need for his brand of control only kindled into an inferno that will consume her eventually. She gathers her torn jeans and crawls to the door, using the handle she gets up on jello legs, taking her time on the stairs to her room, forgoing the shower so that she can smell Klaus on her while she drifts off into the first dreamless sleep she's had in months.

End.


End file.
